


Head In My Hands

by WickedHonktraband



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandonment, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Emetophobia, Intrusive Thoughts, Mental Illness, Other, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-02 13:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8669875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedHonktraband/pseuds/WickedHonktraband
Summary: The worst of this shit had to be over, right? All this noise up in your pan was gettin’ to be enough to drive a motherfucker mad.Gamzee pov, about withdrawl and intrusive thoughts/mental illness. Title taken from a song by The Expendables





	1. Chapter 1

You blink open your eyes, everything is blurry, hazy… When the motherfuck had you even gone to sleep anyway? It didn’t feel like you’d gotten any rest at all.

That wicked ache all up in your pan that made you want lay down in the first place, hasn’t gone away. It’s still there, ebbing low for now, but that could change quickly.

You sit up slowly, everything motherfucking hurts, like that pain in your pan has all up and spread over the rest of your body.

Movement is more difficult than it should be, it seems like it takes you sweeps to bring your hand up to your temples, you rub them in slow, rough circles, it helps…sort of.

Just as your rubbing is starting to make a difference, you feel your guts churn and make a sound you can’t decipher, they just sound fuckin’ mad. This whole motherfuckin’ business is irritating.

How long has it been since you’ve eaten? You wonder. You’re not really sure. You vaguely recall someone, maybe Karkat? Giving you food around the time you finished your last sopor pie. How long ago was that? A couple days maybe? A week? Who the fuck knew? Motherfuckin’ time man, it’s some trippy ass shit.

You did know that food had lost it’s appeal shortly after you’d run out of the sopor.

Every time you did try to eat it just made you feel more like shit. Chewing was tedious, swallowing felt sharp and dry, the second the shit touched your stomach bile started to rise up in your throat.

It wasn’t really worth the effort and pain, even if you did need to eat. Doing it as little as possible seemed like the best way to spare yourself all that bullshit.

Even your wicked elixir was loosing its appeal; the last time you’d tried to slam some, the bubbles had all up and made your insides feel like they were gonna crawl outta you. That was some wicked twisted shit man.

You plant your hands firmly on the ground, pushing yourself up slowly. You’re worried the noises your guts are all up and screaming at you mean something very unpleasant is about to happen.

Standing isn’t easy, your fronds are all wobbly and shit, won’t stop with their trembling no matter how hard you focus.

You really wish you had a solid edge or some shit to pull yourself up on, to make this easy, yet seemingly impossible task go just a little more smooth like.

When you do manage to get to your feet your victory is short lived. Being vertical is making your pan spin like crazy, there goes that shit with your vision again.

Everything is out of focus, that wicked ache is creepin’ it’s way back all up in your pan, making the low electric lights straight up painful to exist under.

Your hide feels like ice, but you’re covered in sweat, it’s makin’ you shiver like a motherfucker.

You walk carefully, with every step you can feel the bile rising inside you; and the waves of nausea are starting to make you loose any hope you had of actually making it to the load gaper. You haven’t even made it halfway down the hallway.

You plant your hand on the wall to steady yourself, clutching your guts and taking a slow, deep breath. Hoping to quell the screaming for a moment, just long enough to reach your destination. It doesn’t work…..

Your fronds give out and you fall to your knees retching. Your sponge feels like it’s full of bees all buzzin’ around confused and shit.

You feel bile leak from your cartilaginous nub as you cough and hack, choking down air harshly every chance you get. It isn’t long before you’re practically swimming in a puddle of your own digestive fluids, snot, and tears.

 _“One of these other motherfuckers can take care of this shit”,_ you think as you begin the tedious task of bringing yourself to your feet again.

It seems easier this time, maybe whatever was causing all that trembling up in your limbs has been expelled. You sure as fuck hope so! You’re covered in that shit all up and down your motherfucking front-side, it better have been fucking worth it!

You make your way to the bathroom like you had intended. Filling the ablution trap, you fling your soiled clothing into the corner.

Some other motherfucker can take care of that shit too. They sure as fuck hadn’t done much else to help you through this bullshit.

No one had even noticed you puking your guts out in the hallway. Fuck them all anyways.

You sink down into the trap, the hot water feels like a fucking miracle on your sweaty, sticky hide. You can feel your achy muscles relax as you watch the swirls of filth form on the surface of the water.

You really hope this shit all up and gets out of your system soon, it’s some pretty weak shit not being able to enjoy your wicked elixir.

Hell it’s some pretty weak shit not being able to stand on your own two strut pods without feeling like you’re going to retch up all your insides.

At least right here, right now, things felt a little bit better. Praise the motherfucking messiahs for that, you hoped it would last.

The worst of this shit had to be over, right? All this noise up in your pan was gettin’ to be enough to drive a motherfucker mad


	2. I'm Gonna Lose It (I think I'm gonna fold, I need to stay in control)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee has some wicked, disturbing thoughts and reflects on his sopor addiction.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU ROT-PANNED, FUCKING FUCKASS! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FUCKING DISGUSTING THAT SHIT WAS?! YOU COULDN’T EVEN BE FUCKED TO COME TELL SOMEONE YOU’D MADE A FUCKING MESS!”

Karkat yelled at you not long after you left the ablution block. Un-pleased with the mess you’d left in the hallway, and that was when it had started.  
The wicked, fuckin down right terrifying thoughts, whispering all up in your thinkpan.

_‘Could **BREAK** him so easily, **GRAB** his tiny little throat and **SQUEEZE** all the life givin’ air from his lungs. Could **SHATTER** his kneecaps and make him fuckin kneel, beg your motherfuckin forgiveness. Who the fuck did he think he was, talkin at you like that?’_

You’re frozen, straight up scared shitless by the wicked, sinister thoughts buzzin’ around up in your nugbone.

“HELLO!? GAMZEE, YOU FUCKING IN THERE?”

“S-sorry, best friend. I-I, fuck s-sorry.”

You get the fuck out of there as fast as you can. You don’t even bother to look back, you know Karbro is pissed as fuck. You’ll apologize later, later when your thinkpan isn’t all full of violence and fucked up shit.

—–

It’s been a couple of days since your run in with Karkat. You’ve been doing your best to just avoid everyone you can, especially your best friend.  
You haven’t been able to stop thinking about what the smaller troll said to you. Fuckin’ couldn’t get that noise out of your head.

Won’t fuckin’ stop, won’t give you any motherfuckin’ peace. Flashes of the conversation replay like one of your bro’s movies, with added scenes of violence.

Bones snapping, skin breaking, blood flowing. Your friend, on his knees, sobbing, choking, begging.

As if that shit ain’t bad e-fuckin-nough, them whispers is startin’ to get louder.

 _'He’s right you know….your thinkpan is **ALL FUCKED UP** , motherfuckin’ **ROTTEN**. Your fault. **YOUR FAULT**. Fuckin’ eatin that slime. What a **DUMB MOTHERFUCKER** you are…up and broke your own pan._’

You bite your lip, squeeze shut your ganderbulbs and try to will that shit to get the fuck out. This isn’t you, this isn’t how you want to be thinkin’.

Karkat is your best bro, you don’t want to hurt him, you know he don’t mean nothin’ by the shit he squawks when he’s mad at you. It was your motherfuckin’ fault, you’d made the mess and left it there. You honestly hadn’t given much of a fuckin’ thought to it at the time. You’d been a little fuckin’ preoccupied gettin’ sick all over yourself.

Maybe he was right, maybe your pan is motherfuckin’ rotten. What kinda motherfucker hears voices what ain’t there, huh? A fuckin shithive maggots, rot-panned motherfucker, that’s who.

You wish you had some pie, the sopor had always calmed you, always made you feel better when everything felt all fucked up.  
You remember bein’ a tiny ass little wriggler the first time you’d tried the radioactive looking ooze.

You were scared, scared, sad, and hungry as fuck, and alone.  
You were almost always alone.  
Your lusus was always gone, doin’ whatever it was he was doin’. The few friends you did have couldn’t really visit you easily, wasn’t really a safe trip for a wriggler to make.

The loneliness made you sad, and the sadness scared you. When the sadness set in it was too easy, too easy to fall into some wicked bad thinkin’.

Things like how you wasn’t good enough, how you should just up and die. How ain’t no one, not even your lusus wanted nothing to do with your fucked up motherfuckin’ self.

Sometimes you thought about just layin’ down in the ocean and lettin’ the waves take you away.

You’d woken up to your digestive sac rumblin’ and grumblin’ somethin’ fierce. You knew you didn’t really have any food. It had been months since your lusus had been home, and you really weren’t sure on how to go about ordering more.

Without really thinking about it, you’d licked your lips. The slime on them hit your tongue with a sweet, fizzy flavor, it was motherfuckin’ delicious. You’d eaten handfuls in a matter of seconds; and in a matter of minutes the bliss set in.

No more wicked thoughts, no more sadness, no more fear. Just nice, quiet, soft, fuzzy, hazy, motherfucking nothing. It was the greatest miracle you’d ever experienced, in all your short sweeps.

You missed it like a motherfucker. Missed who you were with the slime. You were better.

_’ **NEVER** better. **NEVER**. only **LYING** to yourself motherfucker. Spinnin’ a straight up tale of **BULLSHIT**. tryin’ ta’ make like you wasn’t just **IGNORIN’** the **REAL PROBLEM**. problem’s always been **YOU** motherfucker. all you done’s **BREAK** yourself more.’_

“Shut up, shut the motherfuck up”  
You whisper it softly to yourself, you gotta make it stop, gotta try.

_'broken. motherfuckin’ **BROKEN**. pan all up and full of **ROT**. all full of **WICKEDNESS**. motherfuckin’ straight up **SINISTER** bullshit. and you **LIKE IT** motherfucker. **FUCKED UP** as you are, you **FUCKING LIKE IT.** ’_

“NO” Your voice sounds small, small pathetic and weak compared to the screaming inside your sponge. You’re shaking now, shaking and digging your claws into your palms, gotta stay grounded, gotta stay above the bullshit. It’s all BULLSHIT.

_’ **DON’T** lie motherfucker. **CAN’T** lie to your motherfuckin’ self son. you **KNOW** what you gotta up and do. gotta get your nugbone all **CLEAR** brother. gotta be **CLEAR** as a motherfukin’ cloudless night brother. **CAN’T** be truthfully **MIRTHFUL** if you ain’t motherfuckin’ **CLEAR** brother.’_

You hate this. **YOU HATE** it. This is worse, way worse than you remember shit ever being up in your head. You can’t, you don’t even begin to understand how to deal with this noise. You’re almost crying, gotta keep it together, pull your shit self together.

Maybe you’ll go into the common area, find your Karbro, apologize. Just, be around some other motherfuckers for awhile. Distract yourself, fucking anything but listening to this shit all up in your pan. Karkat was loud enough to drown out the noise, right? Probably? You hoped so.


End file.
